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Darian

She looked up towards the light complected man, having learnt that others tried to find common ground when trying to share conversation. She sipped at the mead, enjoying the warming sensation from it as well as from the fire.

"He is called Longtooth though he is not mine."

She pauses as if considering, almost long enough to give the impression she will not speak again.

"I am called Darian. And you?"

Mikal

"I am known as Mikal." He answers oddly.

"It is nice to make your acquaintance." This last is said as if it was something taught to him by someone and he's been saving it up to use. It is almost as if he is 'tasting' the words as they leave his lips, and as he finishes his mouth twitches upwards briefly in a private smile.

"Not yours?" He continues, nodding towards the ruff. "I note you travel together. Are you his then?" He smiles.

(OOC - Ividia - jpeg notwithstanding, as in his description, he is actually light complexioned with green eyes and dark brown, almost black hair, worn long in a pony tail. Was hard enough to find a good pic, so my bad if it doesn't match his description.)

(Bedraggled Waif)

She glanced to the squire who stood waiting near a chair with the blankets brought by the child. A busy little girl she was... And the squire? She looked at his tunic and then his face and back again. She didn't know where she was and knowing the Squire's affiliation would help her. Of course the answer wasn't going to solve her problems, and might actually make it worse. There were enemies out there and she didn't know who they were.

The idea that she would strip down, regardless of the state of her clothing, added a new level of anxiety. It wasn't proper. Maybe women disrobed in front of men in this area, but it wasn't the way of things in Trundle on the Hill.

She allowed herself to be led deeper into the Inn. But...

"These... These are the only clothes i have," she said with some obvious discomfort concerning her modesty.

Darian

She offered a bit of a smile, as if it was something she had not done in a longish time. "We are...well met, Mikal."

The smile turned into a frown, not indicating displeasure but thought.

"He not mine, I not his. We travel together; we are family ... of the same Pack."

Mikal

"Well met." He agrees pleasantly. Glancing between the ruff and the girl he says, "Traveling together I understand. A bit like Tal and I. She's my best friend. Only real friend now that Killian is dead. But Pack?" He tilts his head inquisitively.

Darian

"Pack is like ... family but more."

She shrugged not having the words to explain what she knew instinctively.

"Tal? Who is Tal?"

Mikal

"My mount. Silver, bay, crusader. Talia in full. She's in the stables having a nice bucket of oats and getting her coat curried."

He smiles again. "She's somewhat spoiled, but I indulge her. She's saved my life more than once."

He looks to the ruff again. "Longtooth, though. He looks like he's a bit...., more, for some reason."

He pauses, tentatively reaching out his hand, but stopping before getting within biting range, and looks to Darian. "Do you think he'd mind a scratch behind the ears?"

The Heartwood
The Plainsend Inn at the foothills of the Highgaard Reaches

"Well lass, that you not be worrying for ..."

The barkeep nodded to his daughter,

"Margie, go get one of your mother's tunics ..."

Tunics are simple, and one of the nice things about them is that as long as they are not too small, they can be made to make do. The daughter scampered off, quickly coming back with a bundle of sturdy tan broadcloth.

If you wish, you may, in a single post, vanish away for a little bit and then returning, cold wet clothes exchanged for dry ones and a place at the fire. The intent, as this is a conversational thread, to keep people all together in the general discussion without hiccups.

Darian

"He is more. He is not a ... belonging. He is his own."

She looked down to the big furry head. The ears had twitched at their conversation. Her voice was familiar to him. She addressed him now.

"Longtooth, would ye like anoder scritching? The man has offered."

He blinked at her and looked up to Mikal with another blink. He then tilted his head towards Mikal with a chuff.

"Ye may."

Mikal

He completes the movement of his reaching hand, giving Longtooth a thorough scratching behind his ears and the top of his head, and even under his chin if he seems to want it.

As he does he continues the conversation with Darian. "Well, Tal is not a possession. She and I have been through a lot together and she is friend and confidant. In fact, considering how much time I spend pampering her I'd say most of the time she gets the better end of our travels together."

He gives a final scratch, then looks Longtooth seriously in the eyes. "It is very nice to meet you as well, Longtooth." He nods to the ruff, then sits back in his chair.

"But perhaps it is not the same thing."

Conrad

"Milady, perhaps Lady Comfrey might have something. Otherwise I do have some warm clothing that you may use while your garments are laundered and a warm cloak to help rid you of the chills." he offered.

He wears a signet ring on his finger and a silver chain and disc around his neck. From all signs, he is a squire of Lord Ramos.

Darian

Longtooth dips his head in acknowledgement then goes back to surveying the room.

A lift of her shoulders and a shake of her had. "I am ... not ...we don' have the same ways as others outside the Pack."

Mikal

He laughs, a light friendly sound. "I suppose not. Cameron's Light Horse was not like other troops either, but I think that's not what you mean."

"So, Darian. Are there others in your Pack? Besides you and Longtooth I mean?"

He puts down his now empty mug and looks to see if the serving girl is free from helping with the Acolyte of Attera. If so, he indicates he'd like a refill and turns back to Darian. "Would you like a drink, Darian?" He adds.

Darian

A shadow of sorrow passes across her face and through her eyes. She shook her head.

"We are ... alone. The others are... no more."

She looks into her cup, still mostly full. "Have enough. Thank ye."

<Comfrey>

"Before you do that though, something for helping those injuries." She raised her hand and said quietly, "Lady, aid this one please."

Comfrey's voice and prayer was sincere, but her words were lacking the adornments many seemed to have. A white glow began and would reach out to the girl's head, arms and legs to soothe the physical pains and minor open wounds of the bump and other injuries.

The Lady of Attera held her up, to offer prayers for healing. She had never seen a Lady of Attera before. Not ever. And yet, this far from home, she not only sees one but somehow earns the favor of the woman.

She felt the tears welling up again. No one had ever prayed to the Gods of the Imperial Court on her behalf before. She wasn't worthy of this. She stood there, accepting the kindness, lower lip pushed out, trying to stifle her newest wave of tears.

With reluctance, the young woman accepted the the fact that she needed to shed the clothes she wore in favor of dryer and warmer garments. She allowed Lady Comfrey and the Squire to escort her to a private place. Anything else was Improper and Immodest.

Even in the privacy she was afforded she felt uncomfortable with the Lady of Attera seeing her undressed. However that issue was resolved, she would change from her wet tunics and into the tunics offered by the innkeeper's wife.

Returning to the common room, again the the escort of the Lady and the Squire, still cold and numb and very hungry, she allowed for the possibility that she might actually find her first safe haven in more than a FullHand of days. Maybe.

"You are all too generous. You don't even know me. I don't deserve such favor..."

Now barefoot and still moving slowly, she returned to the larger company of the crowd gathered in this roadside inn. She had been able to dry herself and now it was obvious she had very long blond hair that had a tendency to fall in loose curls.

She still looked lost and cast glances about her as she returned, trying to make sure she knew where everyone was at. She allowed her escorts to guide her wherever they felt was best.

Unconsciously she twisted the silver ring on her left middle finger. Ever since seeing the ring on the squire's hand, she was reminded of her one possession and what it represented it. It was odd that the things that brought happier memories had such a power to inspire hope in times of despair.

Conrad

Conrad had helped support the wet and worn lady to the room and left her in Comfrey's care, standing guard outside of the door with his hands clasped behind his back as he protected the ladies.

He thought of his charge, the alcolyte of Attera as he stood there. She seemed caring and kind as all of the church he had met had been. They had not exchanged words yet but at least he had found his charge and he could now proceed with his duty after almost four days of waiting in this small inn. Conrad would see her safely to Craigside and the good care of the Ladies there.

Escorting them both back to the common room, he turned to look at the girl as she spoke.

"You were in distress and we could give you aid. It is the way of our orders. I am Squire Lord Conrad Shannon of the Rock and this is Alcolyte Comfrey. May we know your name?" he asked, his sharp blue eyes taking in her unconscious twisting of the ring on her hand.

<Comfrey>

Politely she turned her back, or would even step out if that seemed the best to do while the young woman changed. The faster she was getting a bowl of stew in her, the better as far as Comfrey was concerned.

As they went back to the common room her temper started again at the words of the Squire, but she ruthlessly trampled it down. He did not mean to be patronizing and speak for them both. It was his way. A lowering of her eyes was all she allowed herself. Her teacher had taught her that trick.

That her way would be different was not important now. That the once waif ate and wrapped herself in the blanket was. She would move their group towards the table where the stew awaited and smile again at the innkeeper and the one who'd brought the stew and blanket.

There was Duty and then there was the Truth.

One might save her life and the other might see it sacrificed.

Didn't the Lady of Attera deserve honesty from her?

Yes. Even accepting the word of the squire, and she had no reason not to, he also deserved honesty.

But... any of these others could be agents of the conspiracy that put her on the Road East in the first place, abducted from her home. taken from the Imperial Palace. She had no way to know how far this plot extended, nor who's words, no matter how innocent or in-passing, might bring the agents of these enemies to this very place. What harm they might do to the kind family who ran this establishment, or any of these others... especially the Lady of Attera... surely compelled a particular course of action, and no matter how it might cost her in terms of burgeoning relationships, she had to protect them. Her actions and decisions right now could bring harm to either these people or those she left behind in Trundle.

Truth or Duty?

They couldn't co-exist. Those same careless words that might bring harm here, could very well re-ignite the agents of chaos to become more brazen...

She stared at Squire Conrad, matching his deeply blue eyes with her own of Azure, and opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Her eyes seemed to find a place at the center of his tunic and she stared into some distant point in her mind. Finally she looked up at him again, but still seemed no closer to speaking. The squire, directly in front of her was faced with a young woman trapped in a moment of torment.

Tell the Truth or do her Duty as was her place...

"Kris..."

One syllable was all she manged to choke out before she cut herself off and clenched her jaw.

"Camelia," she said, and immediately she regretted saying anything at all.

Mikal

He gets up from the chair and kneels down next to Darian, so he can be at her eye level as she sits on the floor next to Longtooth.

"I am so sorry. I too have lost my..., Pack. Both of them actually. My first Pack. My family. Are all dead. Killed, directly or indirectly by those damned..., well anyway they are all dead." He absently fingers the silver chain around his neck as he talks.

"After that I was accepted into a new group. But the leader decided we could not survive together anymore and sent us all away to try to make it on our own."

"I've been doing that for some time now. It gets lonely at times, and I dearly miss my family and my friends, but you learn to take enjoyment where you can, and while it is no substitute, there is some satisfaction in self-reliance."

Darian

"It is what is," she said as a way of acceptance, her tone indicating her thanks even if her words did not.

Though she had grown more comfortable with dealing with those not of her Pack since she was sent away, it was still a bit awkward.

"When the Grey Men came last, my Master sent us away to find new ... lands..."

She paused again.

"He stood alone against the Grey, but I have heard that he died well."

May you find much honor at Khannish's table.

"Longtooth used to run with him. Now he chooses to run with me. For that I am grateful."

Mikal

He grunts acceptance of her answer. **Perhaps she is unused to others different than her?** He muses.

Based on her earlier answers it sounds like she spent almost all her time with those like she is, and he suspects that means out in the woods and not near cities or towns where there'd be a variety of others to meet and interact with.

But one thing he didn't follow. "Grey Men?"

Darian

"They wore grey and their picture for themselves was stripes of grey. They called themselves ... Mon-ta-gue."

She had difficulty pronouncing the name and there was distaste there.

"They have no --"

She stopped and looked up, unsure. He could be friend to them or in their employ. Her eyes searched for a clue. Longtooth did not react poorly to him, but others were here, could overhear....

Mikal

His tankard falls from his hand, hitting the floor and spilling the rest of his drink. Luckily it is a metal tankard, likely made here at the local smithy, glass being much more expensive than metal. Harder to find and make as well.

Darian can see several expressions fly across Mikal's face, and if she is versed at reading such they are clearly surprise and shock, followed by anger and little disguised hatred.

Those pass quickly, and his face colours in embarrassment. He glances around quickly to see how many noticed, and then reaches down and picks up the tankard, and when the serving girl comes running over he takes her rag and wipes up his spill himself, taking those few moments to compose himself.

He turns back to Darian, speaking quietly so others cannot hear. "My apologies. I did not mean to...., well..., in any case, it seems we have something in common Mistress Darian. A shared sadness. My family. My pack, as it were. Were killed by the Montague. The Grey Men. My Father and Uncle were taken to their mines at Juleston, and were never heard from again. My Mother and Sister tried, with my help, to work our farm, but it was too much. They both died, within a week of each other. In the winter. It was the sickness, but I think much of it was from broken hearts. I had nowhere to go and was lucky to find a Troop of Cavalry who took me in. They disbanded several years ago, so I am on my own once more."

He holds out his hand, offering to clasp arms with her. "I suspect your pain is much more recent than mine. If you have need of help, let me know and I will do what I can. Little as that may be."

Darian

Her eyes do not miss the expressions, especially the ones that resonate with her own feelings. She had followed her Master's wishes, his last edict to her and left him behind to fight the Grey Men alone. Her time since had been spent traveling, surviving, near constantly on the move.

If not for the oncoming storm, she would likely still be on the road, yet she could not in good conscience subject Longtooth to such. And he would be within his rights to leave her if she had continued on. Now, having time to sit, speak with another and reflect even, grief thus far refused began to surface.

She ducked her head, became very still except for the hand that curled in Longtooth's fur. She would not cry or show weakness, not here among those she did not know. Darian gathered herself about her, forcing those feelings down and away. Tension set into her shoulders and she took a long, deep breath.

When she again looked up there was extra moisture in her eyes yet none fell. She set down the tankard and clapsed his arm.

"Mikal we call friend for enemy shared. I would have stayed and stood with my Master, yet he forbade it lest all the knowings be lost."